Breakfast at the Oaks
by ShinyAeon
Summary: A silly little ficlet about Tracey and Gary's first one-on-one interaction. No bashing, no shipping, just hopefully a little humor. PG-13 for references to naughty things, though .


Gary seems to get along fine with Tracey, which (given Gary's early season personality and Tracey's friendship with Ash) seemed slightly odd to me. So here's how I pictured their first significant interaction.

Takes place a few weeks after "The Rivalry Revival." (Assume Gary swung back to the lab for one reason or another.)

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**Breakfast at the Oaks**

_by ShinyAeon_

"So, are you _schtupping_ my grandfather?"

Tracey Sketchit blew orange juice through his nose in an impressive spray. "Wh..._cough..._wh-_hat?!_"

He gaped across the breakfast table at Gary Oak, unable to believe the younger boy had asked that. _I must have heard it wrong,_ Tracey thought, wiping juice off his upper lip. Gary wasn't much older than Ash. Eleven at the most. Surely no kid that young...?

But Gary was giving him an impatient sneer. "It's a yes-or-no question, Sketchit...if that IS your real name," he added, and rolled his eyes. "Couldn't you do any better than that?"

Tracey couldn't help but look chagrined. Like many people in this part of the world, he didn't really have a family name, but he felt two names looked better on an artist's signature - so he made one up. "Ah...I was nine when I thought of it."

"Great. Now answer my question." Gary said, standing and planting his fists on the table, leaning forward like an interrogating police officer. "Are you--or are you not--_schtupping_ my grandfather?"

It was Tracey's turn to roll his eyes. "_No._" He raised an eyebrow. "And..._schtupping_? I didn't know you were Jewish."

Gary smirked. "It sounded better than '_Are you f_--'"

"_Point taken!_" Tracey said quickly. Obviously Gary felt the need to give him a hard time. Was it just because he was Ash's friend, or did Gary hassle all of Professor Oak's new assistants? Tracey reached for his orange jui...no, wait, that was contaminated now (what wasn't sprayed all over the the table)...he reached for the Professor's abandoned coffee cup, feeling like he needed something stronger than water.

"So, you _schtupping_ Ash's mom?"

Coffee and orange juice should never mix, particularly in one's nasal passages. Tracey wound up kneeling on the kitchen floor, making a good try at hacking up his lungs.

"Geez, you're a lightweight," Gary said, appearing around the edge of the table and tossing him a couple more napkins.

Tracey looked up sourly. Gary smirked, comfortably smug.

Tracey finished wiping the spray of coffee from the linoleum (and his hand), then levered himself from the floor. He was not, by nature, a confrontational young man, but he wasn't stupid, either. He could see where all this was headed, and he was not going to let it continue in that direction, not when he'd recently begun at a job he'd always dreamed of having and was loving every minute of. He stood up to his full height--several inches taller than Gary--and folded his arms.

"I should mention," Tracey said, "that my first task as the Professor's assistant was organizing his study."

Gary's expression was puzzled but contemptuous. "Yeah, so?"

Tracey smiled. "There's a photo involving a Sunflora costume that you _might_ not want posted online."

Gary reared back in real fear. They stayed like that for a couple of seconds, a strange tableau. _Still Life With Spilled Orange Juice_, Tracey thought, waiting.

Then Gary laughed, and gave Tracey a friendly little punch on the arm. "Hey, you're all right, Tracey. Looks like having one of Ash-the-loser's friends around the house won't be that bad after all."

Tracey twitched, but came back with "...and I could Photoshop the back flap open on those yellow P.J.'s, no problem."

Gary rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "All right, one of _Ash's_ friends. But I'm not changing my sig line, so don't even try to get me on that one."

Tracey had never seen the sig line in question, but figured since Ash's idea of going online was standing in a queue to get a hot dog, he wasn't honor-bound by friendship to wield embarrassing childhood photos on that point. "Fair enough."

Gary turned to go, then spun back. "Oh, and one more thing...I have a sister. Her name is May."

Tracey sighed, exasperated. "I'm not '_schtupping_' her, either."

"Darn _right_, you're not, she's away at school. But she comes home for visits sometimes and I just wanted to warn you...if I _ever_ catch your eyes dropping below the level of her chin, I will personally insert your newest, sharpest pencil into a random orifice...and hit it with a hammer." He tossed off a jaunty salute, and sauntered out.

It wasn't until Tracey finally met May Oak that he understood the breast...er, the _rest_ of that conversation.

Luckily, Gary never caught him.

* * *

_Note: in case it's an obscure regionalism, "P.J.'s" is short for "pajamas."_


End file.
